And they say American music is dead? -- I just received a frightening email from TicketMaster. It suggests I "won't want to miss these event(s) that matched [my] interests," and proceeds to list a Frankensteinian hodgepodge including: Earth Wind & Fire, Morrissey, Boz Scaggs, Pat Benatar, the professional soccer quarterfinals featuring Trinidad & Tobago playing Guatemala, something called the "Solid Gold Dance Party," Michael McDonald, Evanescence, and as a final blow, High School Musical: On Ice! Memo to Ticketmaster: I'd only pay to see Morrissey on a Smiths Reunion Tour, duh.

The apocalypse is upon us. -- Yes, that is Karl Rove, busting a move at the White House Correspondent's Dinner. Watch his whole mind-boggling "rap" performance here...if you dare.

"If he's truly having fun, he's either the most thick-skinned 17-year-old in America or the one with the largest sense of self-delusion." -- Let's plumb the mystery of Sanjaya, shall we? The kid is turning into the Teflon Don of American Idol, voted back on (and above the bottom 3) every week despite his complete lack of chops, stage presence, or moves. Who are these teenyboppers swooning over him? The same kids who made High School Musical the #1 album last year, I guess. And I for one am starting to appreciate the guy's demented moxie -- he just keeps doing his dorky, camp talent night thing, despite the outrage of snobs everywhere. Actually, in the end I'd rather see him succeed than Haley, the Disneyfied divabot who also somehow sticks around every week. Whatever -- I'd buy a ticket to see Melinda and Lakisha on tour together tomorrow, but I'll keep watching Idol to see what happens to Fauxhawk Boy.

"Do not keep asking me, 'Is it decaf? Did you get that? I ordered decaf. Are you sure it’s decaf?' F+CK YOU. Yes, I got it." -- A grande, hot & foamy cup of delicious vitriol from a Starbucks barista, aimed at all the "silly, sad caffeine addicts who line up like lemmings for overpriced lattes every morning." Ouch!

"This is what a trans-fat looks like." -- Ah, the life of an Unpaid Intern. Up in Seattle, slaving over an alternative weekly paper, spending your days creating deep-fried, bacon-wrapped, cheese-stuffed hot dogs. And blogging it, of course.